MIA
by Madebyme
Summary: She's always had a soft spot for strays but there's something different about this one, and more than anything she wants him to find whoever he's lost. Outsider POV with hurt boys!


**Disclaimer**- I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to the CW, Kripke and Co. I'm simply borrowing them for a while but all the rest is mine. Also I'm making no profit, its just for fun and all standard disclaimers apply.

**Summary** – She's always had a soft spot for strays but there's something different about this one, and more than anything she wants him to find whoever he's lost. Outsider POV with hurt boys!

**Thank you **- To **Scullspeare** for betaing this not once but twice! Your time and input is greatly appreciated. I've tweaked and tinkered so any mistakes are mine.

**A/N** – I've never written an outsider POV before so I'm pretty nervous. There's just a little warning for some spicy language but nothing explicit. Hope you enjoy!

**MIA**

She's cleaning tables when he crosses the road to the garage, his limp barely there any more, face serious behind his growing beard as he talks with Big Mike.

Tucking her grey hair behind her ear, she drops the cloth on the table, watching as he starts work on that big black car of his. He pulls out a metal box from the trunk, plucking out various tools and with the ease of experience, his hands hammer out the driver's side panel.

What she knows about cars she can fit in her purse but even she can tell it's looking better than it did when she first saw it, towed on the back of Big Mike's truck, all twisted and broken, not unlike the man who hobbled into her diner, face bloodied, asking about a motel.

The regulars begin to pour in, all with orders she knows by heart. Before long the smell of bacon fills her nostrils, while her ears buzz with their whispers about the town's mystery resident.

Eventually the crowds dwindle and she puts a new filter into the coffee machine. Her back is to the door when the bell pings but she recognises his footsteps, the rhythm of his work boots thudding the floor tiles, the long uneven strides as he crosses the room.

He sits in the same centre booth, staring at the garage across the street, eyes fixed on the passenger seat of his trashed car, like he's willing something to come to life.

"You hear anything?" His eyes don't meet hers as she pours him a cup of black coffee.

"Not today," she says watching a flicker of hope snuff out behind those guarded green eyes.

He takes a sip of his coffee, grimy hands cupping the white porcelain. "And you've asked around?"

She nods, not quite sure what to say because it's hard to hear him ask every day when she can't give him the answers he wants.

"Because he might not ask for me. He might use a different name or-"

"When I hear something, you'll be the first to know, Jim," she confirms, as Bob the cook rings the order bell.

Collecting Jim's pancakes, she picks up the syrup on her way and places the plate in front of him. "I've had to bulk order the beans," she says, pointing at his empty cup before glancing at the healing cut running down his cheek. "Not that I'm judging but all this caffeine can't be good for you, especially since you're still healing."

She watches him unconsciously rub his thigh. "You don't have to worry about me, Alice."

"Oh, but I do," she says, as he huffs into his coffee with a ghost of a smile.

She squeezes his shoulder as she walks to the counter, and watches him pick up his knife and fork and look at the plate of food like it's a chore. It's just part of the routine he's carved for himself over the last eight days.

She's always had a soft spot for strays but there's something different about this one, and more than anything she wants him to find whoever he's lost.

**XoXoX**

Rumours tend to start in her diner. It's a small town and there really isn't anywhere else for the gossipers to huddle. Her eyes and ears remain open for any news about newcomers but with each passing day, she watches him fade a little more, like he's somehow losing himself.

She doesn't know what he does when he's not at the garage but he starts to come by in the evenings too, and she often stays open later that normal just to make sure he eats something.

"Who did you lose?" he asks one evening, chewing a mouthful of meat loaf.

It knocks her off-guard because it's not like she wears her loss on her apron. But maybe she's not the only one who has been keeping her ears to ground and reading body language and facial expressions.

"My husband, Harry," she says, feeling a lump grow in her throat. "Gosh, he's been gone for over two years now."

He drags his fork through the mashed potatoes, eyes reflecting a pain she can remember all too well, the feeling of being on the edge of coping, watching as the world and everything in it slowly falls apart.

"Evenings are the worst," she says slipping into the booth, "when it's all quiet and I'm alone. That's when the pain hits. Sometimes I think it'll never leave."

He catches her gaze and she can feel him try to claw back his emotions, his shoulders stiffening as he shovels a forkful of food into his mouth, chewing slowly, like he knows exactly what she's going to ask.

"And you? Who have you lost?"

His gaze fires into her like a bullet, full of hurt with maybe a hint of betrayal because for all the days he's been coming to her diner, she's never pried before.

So it surprises her when he swallows his food, fixes his eyes on her and answers. "My brother."

For all the mystery that surrounds him and all her questions about what happened that night when he stumbled into her diner, this is the most honest thing he's ever said to her. His eyes are raw and she can see it all; the guilt, the pain, the emptiness.

"It's supposed to be my job to keep him safe," he pauses, swallowing hard. "But I screwed up...and now the car's trashed and I've been looking...everywhere, but I...I just don't know what to do."

He looks up at her and something in her chest shatters as she curls her hand around his calloused fingers.

"He's all I have and I don't know if he's even alive."

She squeezes his hand before he pulls it away, his eyes dropping to the table and she's pretty sure he eats the rest of the meatloaf just to keep her from asking anything else. She stays with him at the table until he's done and then packs up a piece of cherry pie in a take-out box.

She hands it to him, his eyes refusing to meet hers as he nods his thanks and she knows it's not just for the pie.

**XoXoX**

He doesn't come back for two days.

It really spins her week out of whack because Jim isn't the only one with a routine in this town and that leather jacket and devilish grin is part of hers now. She messes up a few orders and drops more plates than she did on her first day as a fresh-faced teenager, long before she went to the bank and bought the old place.

So when she sees him limp across the street into the diner on the third morning, she feels every muscle in her body relax, letting herself breathe for the first time in the last few days.

He looks worse than when he left, the limp more prominent as he favours his right leg and if she squints she can see the shadow of pain in his eyes has deepened. He probably hasn't eaten either because Lord knows, he wouldn't be eating at all if she didn't make him; his stubborn streak is longer than she's ever seen.

He sits in his centre booth, bad leg outstretched awkwardly as he lowers himself onto the seat, then runs his hands through his cropped hair.

The place is empty. There's only Burt who sits at the counter reading the paper until the bar next town over opens, and he's leaving when she pours Jim his coffee. She slides onto the seat opposite him.

He looks up at her and she gasps. His eyes are red and swollen, tears clinging to his eyelashes but he doesn't blink. She's never seen his guard crack so openly.

"I thought I had a lead," he says, his voice sharp and broken, his eyes lost and pleading for guidance.

She freezes for a second, shocked by the open display of emotion from a man she knows so little about but who has wormed his way into her heart nonetheless. Reaching forward she cups his hands in hers, his skin worn but somehow smooth.

She doesn't know all the details about what happened to his brother, but she knows that Jim's car was towed from Oden Way Road, knows that a stretch has a history of nasty cars wrecks and missing people since Mary-Ann's crash, fifty years ago. They never did find her body.

"You don't give up," she says, squeezing his hands.

He clears his throat, eyes falling to the coffee cup.

"You listen to me," she says, lowering her tone. "You're going to eat a good meal, then you're going to go back to your room, have a shower and get some sleep."

She's pulling herself from the booth when she sees him open his mouth to question her. "You do as you're told or I'll put you to bed myself."

He snorts, mischief sparking behind his damp eyes. "Is that a promise?"

She clips him around the ear, tutting her tongue at his smart mouth as she walks to the kitchen, making sure that Bob knows to add an extra helping on his order.

She's relieved that he eats the whole meal and even though she tells him his money is no good here, there's still a large tip tucked under the plate when she clears the table.

**XoXoX**

He doesn't show the following morning and an uneasy feeling grows in her stomach.

Come lunch time she's serving Betty Gruber, the town's biggest gossip, when she overhears that Big Mike loaned Jim a car and that he sped out of town late last night leaving black skid marks all over the road.

The day goes on and the feeling gets so strong that she has trouble eating. She sends Bob and Michelle home and stays open longer than she usually does, hoping that he might show up.

After scrubbing the whole place clean and filling every salt and pepper shaker, she decides to call it a night at 11 o'clock, her limbs seizing up after spending a whole day on her feet.

She's switching off the lights when the phone starts to ring and that feeling starts squirming in her belly.

She reaches for the phone, holding it tightly to her ear. "Alice's Din-"

"_Thank God,_" Jim says. "_I need you to do something for me._"

"Of course," she replies, her heart beat thundering in her ears.

"_I need you to get me some things, no questions asked," _he says, voice raw like he's been screaming at the top of his lungs, a hint of panic in his tone. "_Can you do that?"_

Picking up her waitress pad, she pulls off the lid of the pen with her teeth. "What do you need?"

Between her house and the diner, she has most of the stuff. Towels, wash clothes, antibacterial soap, a hand basin, a couple of sets of fresh bed linens, a list of groceries, Gatorade, laundry detergent and dental floss.

The medical stuff is more of a challenge. She pretty much empties the first aid kit at the diner; gauze, various bandages and Band-Aids, antibiotic creams and medical tape, and she knows that somewhere in the back of her bathroom cabinet she has some pretty strong painkillers from when she pulled her back out a few months ago.

She's sweating by the time she starts to pack the car, her mind buzzing with questions about her task as she stuffs towels and linens into the trunk, trying to be organised about it until she sees it's after midnight.

The streets are silent this time of night. Most of the town is locked away in front of the TV or in-between their sheets, so she drives faster than she usually does, her foot pressing harder on the gas.

She knows from town gossip that Jim Rockford rents out room nine and she parks right outside his door. The lights are on and she's climbing out the car when he opens the motel door, clothes covered in dirt and stained with something dark.

He closes the door before she gets a look inside the room and follows her to the trunk. "Did you get it all?" he whispers, his body practically oozing exhaustion but his eyes wild.

"I think so," she says quietly, pulling out the bed linens and stacking the towels on top. "But I'm sure that if you call the front office they'd give you most of this stuff."

"I know," he says, offering no further explanation.

She's walking towards the room when he calls to her. "Just pile it all up by the door."

He's limping again but he doesn't complain as they empty the car in silence and she has to bite her tongue to stop herself asking questions. He came to her because he trusts her and she isn't willing to do anything to make him balk. Not yet, anyway.

He closes the trunk and joins her at the driver's door. "I'm gonna stay low for a while," he says, a deep frown carving his forehead. "But I'll be in touch."

"Is everything OK?"

"Yeah," he says, his smile somehow both relieved and petrified.

She knows he's keeping something from her, maybe something about his brother. Maybe not. Reaching up, she cups his face in her hands, drawing his gaze to her. "You need anything, you come to me. You hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he says with a nod. "And thanks, for all of this. I'll pay you for-"

"Don't you dare," she interrupts, her hand falling from his bearded cheek. "And treat yourself to a shave, huh?"

"OK," he nods, a half smile curling his top lip before it suddenly disappears and a deep frown sets into his forehead. "And I need all of this to stay between you and me."

"You got it," she says, meaning every word. "But only if you let me bring you some hot meals. I don't want you wastin' away on me."

His grin doesn't quite reach his eyes. "If you let me pay you for 'em, then yeah."

"You drive a hard deal," she says, sliding into the driver's seat. "I'll be here at seven every night."

"It's a date," he says, closing the driver's door for her as she twists the key in the ignition.

And for the first time since he came into her diner, all those weeks ago, she sleeps well.

**XoXoX**

The next morning town is swamped with police, coroners and men wearing forensic vests, all giving her more business than she usually sees in a month. The gossip is hot and wild and ranges from a mass murderer to escaped convicts but it's Betty Gruber who tells her what's going on.

Bodies of at least 10 missing people, some dating back to the fifties, have been found in a hidden cave out on Oden Way Road.

She thinks about Jim and what happened last night, keeps the coffee flowing and the burgers coming and tries not to join any dots.

By 6:45 p.m. she's decided to pack two meals. It's not exactly subtle but she's hoping it will prod him into telling her if last night's supply run had anything to do with his brother or bodies of missing people suddenly showing up.

She makes good time and takes the back route behind the diner to avoid prying eyes. If he wants to keep all of this quiet then he must have his reasons and she respects that.

She walks up to his door, taking a look over her shoulder at the empty parking lot, figuring that most of the town is on Oden Way Road watching the horror unfold. Rapping her knuckles on the door, she's about to hit the wood a second time when he pulls it open.

He still looks tired, dark circles hanging under his eyes but he's wearing fresh clothes and is clean shaven. "Looks good on you," she says nervously, suddenly feeling like she's made a mistake with the food order. "I've never been fond of beards."

"I'll remember that," he says, opening the door wide enough so that he can slip out.

"I've packed enough food for two," she says wincing at her own words, palms sweaty as she hands over the bag.

"Thanks," he says, ignoring her nudge for information as he digs into his pocket for a couple of folded notes. "And don't even think about giving me any change."

She shrugs. "Guess I'll have to bring extra tomorrow then, huh?"

He laughs gently, his gaze dropping to the floor as he scrubs a hand across the back of his head. "Are you sure this is OK? I mean, it must be like rush hour at the diner and I-"

"Don't you be worrying about things like that," she's says stuffing the notes into the pocket of her apron.

He glances up at her, his gaze locking with hers. "Thanks. For everything. We're really grateful."

She almost misses it, wondering if maybe she's hearing things or if it's just a slip of the tongue. "We?"

"We," he says, a wide smile curling his lips.

She smiles and nods her head. "Well, in that case, you're both very welcome."

Squeezing his shoulder, she turns to leave, her cheeks hurting from smiling so hard. "Oh," she says, turning around to face him. "There's a pie in there too."

"Really?" he asks excitedly, eyes childlike bright, fingers digging into the bag.

She snorts. "Just remember that it's nice to share."

He nods before glancing over his shoulder at the closed door. "It sure is."

**XoXoX**

Eight days later, the hoards of police and reporters are dwindling and the town's everyday routines are re-starting.

She leaves the diner at 6.50 p.m. every night, hoping she'll accidentally catch a glimpse of the mystery brother or hear a new voice behind the closed door but she never does and she knows that's not an accident. Clearly these boys are damn good at staying under the radar.

Today he's waiting outside, his arms resting on the back of the bench beside their door, his eyes closed as he lets the evening sun warm his skin. "You're early."

She looks around, not sure if he's talking to her because it's not like she's wearing high heels that _click-clack _her arrival, just an old pair of sneakers. "Diner's quiet," she says with a frown, setting the bag of food by his feet and taking a seat next to him.

His shoulders are relaxed, the heaviness he's been carrying is gone and then there's the grin. The kind of smile that if she was forty years younger would get her in a whole heap of trouble.

"Burgers?" he asks reaching down for the bag by his ankles.

"You think I'd break my promise?" she says letting her back rest against the bench, stretching her aching legs. "And yes, there's extra onions."

He looks at her, a flash of excitement in his eyes. "Awesome."

He digs into the bag and pulls out a take out box, flipping it open before stuffing a handful of fries into his mouth.

"Hungry?"

"Starving," he mumbles around a mouth full of half-chewed food.

She giggles. "I can see that."

She barely has time to blink before he's polished off his burger, sucking juices from his fingers before rubbing them down the leg of his jeans. "A guy would drive across four states for a burger like that."

She raises her eyebrows. "And that's something you do often?"

He grins, his eyes twinkling in the early evening sun. "Sometimes."

"Well, that's good to know," she says, hauling her weary bones off the seat. "Best get back before-"

"What have you heard about Oden Way Road?" he interrupts, his body tense, his face suddenly so serious that she does a double take.

"They found some bodies of missing people," she says, trying to read him but this isn't a side she's ever seen before. "They've sectioned off part of the road for the investigation. But word around town is they're from car wrecks going back to the fifties."

A deep frown winkles his forehead. "So the cops are still poking around?"

"Some, but they're mostly on Oden Way Road," she says, her eyes locking with his. "Why you askin'?"

He shrugs a shoulder. "No reason."

"Is that where you found your brother? In that cave?" she asks.

His eyes shift to the asphalt, his jaw clamped shut.

"Y'know, most summers there's a couple of car accidents on that road. People go missing, never to be seen again - which would make your brother a first in my book."

"He's the last now," he says, his tone flat, and somewhere behind the lost boy she's known for weeks, there's a glimmer of a man with a mission. "And it won't be happening again. Ever."

And she can't help but believe every word.

**XoXoX**

A few days later, the breakfast rush is over and she's taking a break. Sipping her coffee, she's pulling off her sneakers and wiggling her toes in the fresh air when the door pings.

Despite the recent flurry of new faces, she's pretty sure she knows who the tall stranger is.

He glances around the room, eyes peeking out from under dark and tousled hair before he catches her at the booth. As he gets closer she notices that the right side of his face is mottled in shades of lilac, his bottom lip fat and swollen but it's his eyes that give him away, expressive but also somehow guarded.

He walks towards her, his right arm in a sling and she can see a flash of white bandages poking out from under his countless layers. "Alice?" he asks, ducking his head, hair falling into his eyes. "I'm-"

"The missing brother," she interrupts. "It's great to finally meet you. Here, have a seat. You look like you need it."

His eyes are bracketed with pain lines but his cheeks flush pink at her words. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Alice," she confirms. "Can I get you and that brother of yours anything? Bob can-"

"No. Thank you," he says, his hand hovering over his ribs, his breath hitching as he lowers himself down onto the seat. She watches as he closes his eyes, like he's collecting himself, willing the pain away. Something she'd seen his brother do only a few weeks ago.

And for the first time she wonders what could possibly make them think that it's okay to be in pain, to go it alone and not ask for help. "You don't look so good."

His skin blanches before her eyes, cheeks sallow and sunken, like he's lost some weight. "I'm OK," he says, the tip of his tongue unconsciously poking at his lip.

She shakes her head, no wonder it isn't healing. But she sees the determination set in his features.

"I just need a minute."

"Maybe I should call your brother," she says, sliding out of the booth.

"No," he snaps, looking up at her, eyes soft and sheepish. "He doesn't exactly know that I'm here."

She rests a hand on his arm. "And I'm guessing he won't be too happy about it?"

"He'll kick my ass for sure," he says with a crooked smile.

"Well I can't be responsible for an ass-kicking now can I?" she says, walking around to the back of the counter and pouring a glass of orange juice. "And I certainly don't want to be in your brother's bad books, so drink this before you pass out on my floor."

He reaches for the glass and she sees the bruises and cuts on hands, the Band-Aids covering the tips of what she can only imagine are missing fingernails, wondering what horrors a man this young has experienced over the last few weeks.

"I heard about everything you did for us, for my brother," he says, hands shaking as he takes a sip before placing the glass back on the table. "It's not that often that someone goes out of their way for us and it...it really means a lot."

His smile is soft and gosh, the dimples are just as effective as his brother's grin. "It's my pleasure," she says. "So you're leaving?"

"My brother let Mike finish the car, so yeah."

She frowns. "Will I see him before you go?"

"He's not too great with goodbyes," he says, taking another sip of juice. "He doesn't usually let his guard down with people, especially strangers."

She snorts. "Yeah, I noticed."

"But it's different with you," he says and there's something so genuine and tender about the look in his eyes. "So thank you. For being there for him, for taking care of him."

Reaching into his pocket with his good hand he pulls out a crumpled receipt with a phone number scrawled in black ink. "We, er, move around a lot but if you need anything, anything at all, call this number and Bobby can get in touch with us."

She picks up the receipt, her teeth chewing her bottom lip. "And I ask for Jim Rockford?"

He's gripping the table as he pulls himself to his feet, his knuckles paling. "Yeah," he says, a little out of breath, "but Dean will work too."

"Dean, huh," she says with a smile. "Maybe you'll swing by sometime? I hear I make the best burger in four states."

He snorts softly, flashing his dimples. "Then you can count on it."

He's halfway to the door, arm cradling his ribs when Dean storms in; his hair is wet, like he just got out of the shower, grey t-shirt blackening as cotton sponges off the moisture from his skin.

"Sam!" Dean hisses, his chest heaving as he catches his breath. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I-"

"No note, no warning, just an empty motel." Dean growls, face stern. "You can't go MIA again, Sam, I'm too young and handsome to die from a friggin' heart attack! Besides you shouldn't even be on your damn feet anyway."

Despite the fury she sees in his clenched fists, she hears the fear and worry snaking around the fiery words and wonders why she hasn't pegged him as the older brother before now.

"I just needed some air," Sam says calmly, eyes peaking out from under his bangs. "I'm fine, Dean."

"Oh, really?" Dean's eyes scan his brother from head to toe, brow furrowed as his fingers push past Sam's jacket and ease his shirt apart. "If you've busted one of my stitches, I'll-"

"I'm good," Sam says, rolling his eyes and batting his brother's hands away. "Really."

Dean stares into Sam's eyes like he's looking for a hint of a lie and she sees the tension in his features seep away. "Well, you still look like shit."

Sam snorts as Dean swipes a hand over the water dripping down his face. "And I'm sure 'the wet look' is all over the catwalk right now."

"Says the Band Aid boy."

Sam scowls. "Bite me, Jerk."

"You wish, bitch," Dean says with a smile.

"How about I get you two a slice of pie?" she says, smiling at their banter. "Bob's just taken some out of the oven."

"No thanks, Alice," Sam says, "we're about to hit the road so-"

"I could eat some pie," Dean interrupts, sliding past Sam to take a seat in his usual booth.

Sam raises his eyebrows. "It's like 10a.m., Dean."

"So?" Dean shrugs, with a grin. "There's always room for pie."

Sam's top lip curls as he releases a breath, shuffling slowly to join his brother in the booth.

She has pie and coffee with them until the lunch rush rolls in, and she's up to her eyes in orders when she notices they've gone. Walking to their table, she sees a folded piece of paper and a far too generous tip tucked under a plate.

Reaching for the paper, an old gas receipt, she unfolds it and reads the message left in black ink.

_Best burger in four states. Best pie in fifty._

She smiles, tucking the note in her apron pocket with the phone number.

An hour later she's cleaning table four when sees them cross the street to their car which is parked in front of Big Mike's Garage. They walk in-sync, following a silent rhythm, knowing exactly where the other one is without looking, like they've spent their whole lives by each other's side.

Dean is carrying two duffle bags in one hand, the other hovering behind his brother's back as he reaches down and opens the passenger door. Sam scowls and there's an unspoken look that she can't quite read, something between a thank you and don't you dare do that again, but she has no trouble recognising a stubborn and independent streak as long as his brother's.

Dumping the bags in the trunk, Dean turns to face the diner as he pulls open the driver's door. He catches her gaze, holds up his hand and nods, his smile softening as his eyes say thank you before grinning like a fool with a flash of teeth and a wink.

She waves at him, suddenly unable to wipe her smile off her face. Damn that boy and that grin of his.

**The End**


End file.
